


Coming Undone

by brage



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom John, DoctorJohn, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Medical, Medical Procedures, Prostate Massage, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 05:25:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brage/pseuds/brage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is having unusual symptoms.  John has a hard time remaining professional.  Lots of medical whatsits and then sex.  Sorry about the cliche-ness of it, but we all have our weaknesses.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sorry, Sherlock, but I need to have a look at you.”</p>
<p>Sherlock kicked off his own cover and flopped onto his back, clearly annoyed.  “Yes, clearly my priority should be to satisfy your curiosity.”</p>
<p>John sat on the edge of Sherlock’s bed.  Patiently, he waited for Sherlock to accept his presence.  </p>
<p>Finally, Sherlock dragged a hand through his hair and flopped his arm over his head.  “Fine.  Examine me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Undone

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [De Facto](https://archiveofourown.org/works/233651) by [pennydreadful](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennydreadful/pseuds/pennydreadful). 



> I am not a doctor. I did a lot of research. I'm pretty sure I've made myself into a prostate expert now, but, again, not a doctor. If anything seems unreal or unlikely, I'm sorry. I think I did a pretty decent job of the medical stuff. I know how inaccurate medical jargon irritates me, so I did my best. Still, try not to look too closely, please.

John Watson was usually a very sound sleeper.  Well, since he became flatmates with Sherlock Holmes at least.  He knew the man kept odd hours, not to mention odd habits with odd experiments.  He was used to having the restless sounds of Sherlock stirring about in their flat late at night when most of the country was fast asleep, including John.  If he did stir, it was, at least easy to fall back to sleep.  The physician in him did, however, become alert to alarming noises or to habits that were clearly out of the ordinary. 

So when he heard the toilet flush for the sixth time that night and Sherlock opening the bathroom door to scurry back to his room, he flipped onto his back and sighed.  ‘Probably the flu’ he thought as he sat up, slipped his feet into his slippers, grabbed his medical kit under his bed and made his way down the stairs. 

Sherlock’s door was shut tight and the light off.  He knocked quietly knowing Sherlock was awake.  He’d just heard him leave the loo. 

“Go to bed, John.  I’m fine.”  John heard coming from behind the door.

He turned the knob and pressed inside.  “I’m up anyway.  Just let me have a quick look then.” 

“Look at what?  I said I’m fine.”  Sherlock pulled his covers up to his neck and rolled onto his side, facing away from John. 

“Did you eat something that didn’t agree with you?”

“John.” Sherlock was obviously losing his patience.

“You’ve been to the bathroom too much in one night.  I have something I could give you to help.”

“Your diagnostic powers are even more brilliant than I thought, Dr Watson.  You’ve already prescribed what I need from the doorway.”

“I just thought …”

“I do not have diarrhea, Dr Watson.  Now I’ll thank you to stay out of my business.”

John was taken aback.  Oh.  Not an intestinal issue then.  This wasn’t a simple case of the bends.  It wasn’t a far jump to realize what the issue actually was then.  If Sherlock was urinating that frequently, there was a very short list of things that would cause that particular symptom for someone in their 30s.  More alarmed, John pushed forward, set his med kit on the floor next to Sherlock’s bed and pulled at the covers. 

“Sorry, Sherlock, but I need to have a look at you.”

Sherlock kicked off his own cover and flopped onto his back, clearly annoyed.  “Yes, clearly my priority should be to satisfy your curiosity.”

John sat on the edge of Sherlock’s bed.  Patiently, he waited for Sherlock to accept his presence. 

Finally, Sherlock dragged a hand through his hair and flopped his arm over his head.  “Fine.  Examine me.”

“Tell me what your symptoms are.”  John wrapped fingers around Sherlock’s wrist, easily finding the pulse point. 

“Frequency, urgency, diminished urine stream and painful … painful everything.”

“Painful urination or ejaculation?”

“Both.  But it also hurts to not ejaculate.”

“Have you ever had these symptoms before?”

“Yes.  Ten years ago.  Prostatitis.  Antibiotics had little effect and the battery of tests were miserable.”

“So how did it resolve?”

“It just did.  I don’t know.  After it stopped, I stopped thinking about sex altogether, not wanting to reawaken the symptoms again.  It was distracting from my work anyway.  The swelling went down on its own.  I simply haven’t recognized the existence of my prostate again until now.”

“So you …?”

“No, I haven’t.  Obviously.”

“Sherlock, are you telling me you haven’t … you haven’t even wanked in ten years?”

“Incorrect.  I’m telling you that before six months ago I hadn’t even achieved an erection in ten years.”

“Six months ago is when this all started?”

“No, six months ago I had my first erection in ten years.  Obviously.  Do keep up John, repeating myself is boring.”

“Right.  Okay then.  Putting aside the fact that I didn’t even think that was possible, you had an erection for the first time in ten years, six months ago.”  John repeated.  “Then what happened.”

“Well, then I had a good wank, I suppose.  What do you think happened?”

“No, I mean, when did your symptoms start?”

“Of course.  The pain started about a month ago.  The rest about a week ago.”

John nodded his head.  “Well it sounds like textbook case of prostatitis.  I’m going to schedule you for a cystoscopy and prostate exam tomorrow.  Dr Halliard is a colleague of mine at the …”

“No.”

“No?  You said the antibiotics didn’t really work, so I thought the best course would be to jump right to the needed tests then.”

“The tests are fine, but I’m not going to any other doctor.”

“Sherlock?”

“Just you.”

“I’m … I’m not sure that’s …”

Sherlock interrupted him before he was done explaining his point-of-view.  “I’ve been through this before.  The tests, they’re archaic at best and that’s if the physician isn’t a complete dolt.  They are nothing short of hell if he is.  I’m not going to some barbarian or someone I cannot trust and since you’re the only one that I do trust … ”  He left the end of the sentence unspoken but clearly understood.

John sighed.  He’d taken care of minor issues with Sherlock before, lacerations, blunt-force trauma, sprained ankle, even a rash at one point—all advanced first aid sort of things.  He wasn’t sure having his best mate as a patient was a good idea for this though.  There would be very personal exams, prolonged care and follow up.  He supposed that having someone he trusted would set Sherlock’s mind at ease a bit though, especially if he’d already been through this before and apparently had a somewhat less than a stellar physician in charge of his care.  The testing can be rather barbaric to a young lad.  Sherlock must not have been much out of university when this first happened.   

“Alright then.  You up for a little breaking and entering then?”

Sherlock’s eyes brightened.  “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, today is Friday.  Stanley is the only security guard working on Fridays.  Nice man, but lazy, I’m afraid and he suffers intermittently from gout symptoms when he cheats on his diet, which is way too often.  Makes rounds maybe twice during the night shift probably.  I’m certain he’s already finished with it at this point.  I have the keys to the back door.  We can slip in easily, I should think.”

“And why aren’t we simply walking in during the day?”

“I’m not a urologist am I?  They don’t just allow me to commandeer their equipment whenever I like.  I did a rotation in urology.  I’ve done over a hundred cystoscopies.  I’m confident I can do it, but it’s not my specialty.  It’s either this or I have to refer you.”

Sherlock smiled  “Ah, the game is afoot then.”  He rose up easily from his bed practically tearing off his own night clothes to be replaced by his normal attire.  “Are you planning to go in your pyjamas John?”

John stood once he realized he’d been caught staring at Sherlock.  “No … no, I’ll just …”  He sputtered and sheepishly made his way to his own bedroom to change. 

 

John stopped Sherlock before they began their nocturnal adventure.  “Sherlock, I just want to be sure you understand.  This involves some extensively intimate examinations.  I have to be thorough, you know.  I won’t cock this up trying to allow you your privacy.”

Sherlock gave a quirk of an eyebrow.  “Excellent choice of words doctor.  I would expect nothing less.  Off we go.”  He flipped his scarf around his neck and opened the door, not even attempting to be quiet in the stair well. 

 

 

Getting inside the surgery was easy enough since John had the key.  They had to sneak passed the security station but then they noted that nobody was sitting there at all. 

“I thought you said Stanley would be finished with rounds by this point.”  Sherlock looked at his watch. 

“Maybe he went to the loo.  Who cares, let’s keep moving.  There are no cameras to worry about.”

Not wanting to make the elevators ‘ding’ with their use, they took the stairs.  John cursed his phone for the loud sound it made to inform him of a received text message.

**_I do trust you will keep me informed of my brother’s condition.  
MH_ **

John quickly texted back before turning his phone off.

**_I don’t know why you would.  
JW_ **

Fortunately, urology was only on the third floor.  Finding their way from the stair well to the urology department would only be a matter of two turns.  The first they took very carefully, fully aware of noises that might indicate the security guard was, in fact, doing another walk-through of the building before end of shift.  How hard could it possibly be to hear a man in his late sixties with the gout, shuffling through the hallway? 

They heard no such thing when they rounded the second corner only to run smack dab into the brick wall that was Malcolm, the regular security guard. 

Malcolm was the first to recover from the shock.  “Dr. Watson?  Doc, what’re you doin’ here this time a the mornin’?”

John made a point to look at his watch.  “Yes, yes it is a bit early isn’t it?”  He looked toward Sherlock who maintained a very neutral expression.  “Yes, well … my colleague here, Dr. Rowand-unsteigal, is on a different time zone, I’m afraid.  Hard to get used to the time difference between London and Istanbul I should think.”

“Yes, I suppose it would be.”  Malcolm looked over toward Sherlock who simply smiled silently.  “Are you here to train with Dr Watson then?”

Sherlock opened his mouth to respond but quickly shut it again and smiled as John answered for him.  “Doesn’t speak a lick of English, I’m afraid.”  John interjected before Sherlock had a chance to answer. 

Malcolm refocused his attention back onto John.  “But what are you doing here?”

“My good colleague has requested I show him some of the equipment that we use to treat patients.  Get an idea of the more modern kinds of equipment, you know.  Istanbul is painfully unaware of modern medicine.”  Then he whispered.  “Quite Neanderthal really.”  He visibly shivered for effect.

“Quite.  But shouldn’t you be up to the fifth floor?”

“Normally, yes, that is where I do work … but, you see … it would seem that … Istanbul has received a gracious gift of an ultrasound machine but they have nobody who knows how to operate the machine.  Dr. Rowandunshtein …”

“Rowandunsteigal.”  Sherlock corrected.

“Sorry, yes, Dr. Rowandunsteigal is in desperate need of a demonstration.  I know Dr. Mumford keeps an ultrasound in his examination area so I thought I would just pop in and show the good doctor exactly how to use such a complex machine.  You know, for the betterment of mankind and … such.”

“Why wouldn’t Dr Mumfor do the demonstration?”

John tilted his head and crumpled his face as though it were obvious.  “Well, Dr Mumford doesn’t speak Istanbulean now does he?”

“Oh, no, I suppose not.  You do though?”

“Of course.”  John clarified turning to Sherlock and spouting a row of nonsensical syllables at the man who then pointedly spouted some off to John in similar fashion. 

Malcolm nodded as though he understood what they were saying.  “Dr Mumford will have a fit, he will.”

“Yes, I’m aware that if Dr Mumford is aware of someone using his equipment, he will have a fit.”

Malcolm smiled beamingly.  “Well, your secret is safe with me doc.  I have no problem getting’ one over on that pain in the arse anyway.  Demostrate away.  I will warn you, he usually comes in a bit earlier than everyone else.  Should be here in about an hour, maybe an hour and a half.”  Malcolm leaned in closer to John and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Probably likes to rub up and down on his equipment, have a little bit of private time with it, if you know what I mean?”

John snickered.  “Got it.”  John looked at his watch once again.  “So he’ll be in on a Saturday then?”

“Oh yeah.  Comes in on Sunday afternoons as well.  He’s an odd one.”

“Right.  Okay, then.  Thanks, Malcolm.”

“No sweat, Doc.  Do you need to be let into the room?”

“No, I have a master key.”

“No.  The master key doesn’t fit Dr. Mumford’s exam room.  Here, I’ll let you in then.”

“Oh, well good thing I ran into you, Malcolm.  Thank you for saving face.  I would have been so embarrassed in front of Dr Rowandenshberg.”

“Rowandunsteigal.”  Both Malcolm and Sherlock corrected. 

“Yes, quite.”  John held the door open for Sherlock as Malcolm nodded and took his leave.

As soon as the door closed, Sherlock grabbed John’s lapels and hauled him forward, planting a kiss to his forehead.  “That was bloody brilliant.”

John was a bit gobsmacked.

“You do count on the ignorance of others quite a bit don’t you?”

“What?”

Sherlock released his hold and began taking off his scarf and coat.  “Istanbul has a state-of-the-art medical community with many private hospitals and world-renowned physicians.  It’s hardly a third-world rated country at all.”

“Yes, well, you don’t look like you’re Haitian or Dominican so, I figured nobody really knows a lot about people from Istanbul so …”

“Bloody brilliant.  Istanbulean?  Indeed.  Of course, you could have just told him the truth.  It didn’t sound like he was eager to remain loyal to Dr. Mumford.”

“Mumford is a wanker.  I hadn’t realized I was not the only one who knew that until there at the end and by then ..eh …”

“Well, as a physician, you have outperformed all that I have ever seen, by far.”

“Glad you think so.”  Watson smiled.  He pulled on the ultrasound machine that had been quietly sitting in the corner.  He flipped a switch and let it begin its course of self-diagnostics before becoming a useful instrument.  “I suppose you’ll probably have to urinate by now?”

“Ah, yes.  I hadn’t had to think about it since we left the flat.”

“That’s good.  That’s normal.  Fight or flight mechanisms diminish urine production.  That’s a good sign.”

Sherlock gave John a concerned glance.  “John.  I don’t have cancer.”

John looked wounded.  Just the thought cut him to the core.  “I know that.  I’ve already decided that.”  He didn’t know if he was trying to convince his patient or himself.  John removed his coat and then moved closer to his friend.  “I appreciate that you’ve probably got knowledge of the human, male anatomy burned into your brain as well as all differential diagnoses related to your symptoms and have already deduced exactly what is going on with your own body.  I don’t care.  As I’ve already told you, I’m going to be quite thorough.  There is no definitive diagnostic test to say whether you have prostatitis again or if this is something else that acts like it.   I will rule out everything else before I decide what you have.  There is no point of discussion on the matter.  This will be quite personal.  You will become embarrassed, hell, so will I probably.  You will probably even get pissed off at me, but I will do whatever I know that I need to do aside from referring you to someone else.  You wanted me as your physician, you got me, but we do this my way.”

Sherlock nodded stiffly and put his arms straight out to his sides.  “Perfectly understandable.  I’m yours.”

John nodded.  He grabbed a sample cup from a nearby countertop and pointed toward the attached bathroom.  “Fill it up then.” 

“Can I have two of these?”

“Pardon?”

“I’d like to conduct my own studies as well, if you don’t mind.” 

Knowing it would do him no good whatsoever to say ‘no’, afterall, Sherlock could just as easily grab his own urine sample if needed, John reached over and grabbed another cup.  “There are cleaning swipes in the loo.  Make sure to clean yourself thoroughly before beginning your stream.  Once you’ve started, stop your stream and then collect that urine in the cup.  Be sure not to touch the sides of the cup with your penis.”

“Thank you, doctor, but I have given a clean-catch urine specimen before.” 

“Just making sure.”

“Of course.” 

John made himself useful getting the scope ready and finding the equipment he would need.  By the time Sherlock came out, John had the exam table set up.  It had taken him a moment to work the stirrups out of the end of the table but he managed.  He left one of them undone to make it easier for Sherlock to get onto the table. 

Sherlock set his two samples on top of a paper towel on the countertop.  He looked forlornly at the exam table all set up and waiting for him to lay upon it. 

“Oh, I didn’t get out a johnny.  Hang on … I’m sure I can strum one up.”

“No, it’s fine, John.  The sheet will be fine.  I’ll only need to undress from the waist down I presume?”

“Yes, that’s it.  You can keep your socks on if you like.”

Sherlock gave a mock scowl. 

“Guess that doesn’t really save your modesty does it.”

“John, don’t misunderstand my trepidation.  I don’t feel some youthful connection to modesty or an aversion to being naked.  I have a very specific sense memory related to this scenario and I’m afraid it is stronger than I thought it might be.”

“Your doctor … the last time this happened, wasn’t … nice?”

“No.  far from nice, actually.  Quite a bastard really.  Very rough, very humiliating.”

John took a few steps to close in the space between them.  He put a comforting hand on his shoulder before he realized he made that gesture to most of his patients.  Sherlock was not most of his patients.  Sherlock was his best friend.  He deserved more than the pittance of physical comfort that he normally afforded to those patients he took care of.  He moved his hand to Sherlock’s face, gently rubbing a thumb across his cheek.  “Sherlock?”

Sherlock’s eyes met his.  They shared a connection.  More than flatmates, more than friendship, more than doctor/patient confidence.  It was a look of trust, one of handing himself over easily and one of accepting that trust. 

“I will take care of you.”

“No doubt in my mind.”  Sherlock seemed to snap out of any particular connection the gesture entailed quite easily and gave John a rueful smile. 

“Alright then.  Not much time, I’m afraid.  Off with the knickers and up on the table.”  John announced as he turned and patted the paper lining on the exam table.

Sherlock laughed easily at John’s crudeness and then began pulling at his fly.  Sherlock turned around to get his balance with a hand on the counter while he pulled his trousers off of his feet.  He folded his garments neatly and placed them in a neat pile on top of the counter.

John glanced over at Sherlock’s progress.  He hadn’t wanted to invade his privacy but curiosity got the better of him.  The pale expanse of skin caught his attention.  Long legs, pronounced hamstrings, swell of perfectly-shaped buttocks.  Holy jeez.  He only held his inappropriate gaze for a moment before he was able to professionally kick himself in the arse and get himself right before Sherlock turned around. 

When he met the man six months ago, he’d thought Sherlock was beautiful.  Those cheekbones, jeezus H, who in the hell had cheekbones like that?  The luscious, unruly hair, the pale skin all wrapped up in designer clothing that just highlighted all of that beauty.  Now that he’d seen most of him naked, so lithe, so utterly gorgeous … well, enough thinking on that.  

Sherlock was his best friend and now his patient.  Period.  The end.

John grabbed the crisp, white sheet and quickly draped it over Sherlock as soon as he’d sat down on the table wearing just his button up shirt.  “Up you go then.” And he directed his patient onto his back.  “Let me put this stirrup into place before you move down the table.”  He made quick work of the other stirrup.  “Actually, just stay where you are a moment.  I can get your ultrasound completed without you being in the stirrups.”

“Alright.  Why do we have need of them anyway?”

“It tilts the bladder in such a way.  I’ll be letting in a sterile solution into your bladder during the scope, the tilting will aid me in being able to visualize and it will also help with the pressure, not being so pulled toward your prostate.”

“Ah.  Makes sense.”

John nodded.  In a clinical manner, he pulled the sheet downward, stopping at about the point he could barely see pubic hair and folded the sheet out of his way.  “Lift up a bit.”  Palms pressed against his sides as he rucked Sherlock’s top up to the middle of his flat abdomen.  He met his patient’s eyes. “This will be cold.”  After Sherlock nodded in acknowledgement, he applied the gel to his lower abdomen and then began moving the probe within the fluid.

“I thought we were only here for the scope?”

“The more I thought about it, the more I came up with what tests we could get out of the way right here, right now.  None of them take very long.”  He continued to push buttons and monitor the screen as he spoke.  “And if I get them done myself, I’ll not only have the results much quicker, I’ll have no need to schedule you to see someone else.”

Sherlock nodded his approval but had to ask.  “Tests.  Plural.  What other tests, John?”

“This is an ultrasound of your bladder.  I can check for post-void residual.   It’s done just after …”

“Yes, just after I void, obviously.”

“Right.  Well I’m pleased to say that you are not retaining urine in your bladder.  That is good news.  It just means that since your prostate sits directly below the bladder, it becomes irritated with any fluid at all in your bladder.  The pressure increases and you feel the need to void all the time.”

“Good.  What’s next?”

“The next one can be very uncomfortable.   I’ll use a very small probe and insert it into the rectum.  I’ll be able to see your prostate.”

Sherlock remained silent. 

“I know.  Doesn’t sound remotely pleasant, but it is diagnostically essential.”

Sherlock’s cheeks were flushed.  “Does this take the place of a manual prostate exam then?”

“No.  I’ll still have to feel the tissue to appreciate the density of it.  We can do that more comfortably in my office later or even at home if you’d rather.  I just didn’t want to have to burgle my way into this lab a second time so, might as well get all of the invasive stuff done in one go.”

“They didn’t do that to me before.”

John looked shocked.  “A transrectal ultrasound?  I don’t know why not.  It is standard procedure for your symptoms.”  After removing the probe from his abdomen, John carefully wiped the gel from his belly and pulled the sheet back up.  “You alright?”

“Yes.  Continue.”  Sherlock said and laid his head back onto the pillow.

“For this one, I’m going to have you roll onto your left side.  Hang on a second though.”  Once he made the necessary adjustments to the machine, he held up a very short, very thin probe so Sherlock could see it.  “See, very innocuous thing, isn’t it.  The prostate is only about two inches into the rectum.  There is no need to go further in and the width of it is hardly bigger than a finger so it wouldn’t be uncomfortable at all.  Shouldn’t be, at least.”

“You’ve never had one though.”

“No.  I don’t suppose I can speak on first-hand authority, but I should think this would be easier than a manual prostate exam.”

“Which you have had.”

“Of course.”

“You’re barely forty.  Why ….”

John didn’t let Sherlock push attention back onto him instead of where it should be focused.  “Ingrained military fortitude and all that.”  He donned exam gloves. “Oh, before I forget.”  He grabbed a syringe with a long needle-nose tip.  “This is full of an anesthetic gel.  I’ll need to push this into your urethra to numb the area before I do the scope.  It takes a few moments to work so I’ll get that out of the way while we do the other.  It should take effect by the time I’m done.

Sherlock squeaked.  “An anesthetic?  Like a localized  desensitizing agent?”

“Yes.  It won’t make you drowsy or anything.”

“Is this standard?”

“Yes.  Well sometimes we do scopes under general or light sedation, but I’m going to need you to walk out of here with me in about forty-five minutes, so, just the local.  Do you feel like you need something more?”

“No, no.  Local is fine.  Has this been used with this procedure for a long time.”

“Yes, of course.”

Sherlock pressed his lips into a tight line.

“Let me guess.  Your last physician didn’t use it?”

Sherlock shook his head.

“Sherlock, I am not only an excellent physician, I am also an excellent sniper.  What is that arsehole’s name?”

Sherlock snickered shortly. 

Rage began to bubble anew.  His previous doctor (and he used the term loosely) had obviously taken short cuts that bordered on abuse.  It was sickening.  Thoughts flashed of a very long and specific type of torture once he hunted this man down. 

After giving Sherlock a moment to get out of his head space about what had happened to him during his previous illness, John pressed on.  “I’m going to take hold of your penis, pull down the foreskin and you’ll feel a slight pressure as I push this gel into your penis.  It might burn slightly.  Then the area will become numb after a few moments.”  He held up the syringe again.  “There is no needle on this syringe, it doesn’t poke you, it’s just shaped this way for this purpose.  Alright?”

Sherlock nodded. 

John pulled the cover back and once again took note of the man’s glory in an inappropriate way.  Holy mother … the man’s penis was a good six inches soft.  Well bully for him.  Was there nothing about him that wasn’t completely and absolutely gorgeous? 

Easily coming back to the purpose, John firmly grasped the impressive organ before him and pulled back revealing the glans and the urethral opening. Sherlock gasped quietly and John noted him squeezing his eyes closed.  Quickly and with practiced ease, John inserted the syringe and slowly pushed the plunger, pulling up and out as the fluid filled the space. 

“That’s done then.”  He discarded his equipment on the nearby table and then placed a hand on Sherlock’s hip.  “C’mon, over you go.  Not much time left”

Sherlock moved quickly onto his side as instructed. 

“Pull your knees up toward your chest.  You don’t have to fold yourself in half, but some pressure to the abdomen would help.”  Once his patient obeyed, John liberally applied lubricant to the probe and to his patient’s anus.  He moved the lubricant around the sensitive tissue with his thumb, getting Sherlock ready to be penetrated in this manner.  “I need you to relax, Sherlock.  Take some deep breaths.  These muscles should not be tensed up during this exam.  It could be detrimental.  Relax and breathe a moment.” 

He heard a few deep breathes escaping his patient and noticed the muscles begin to relax.  “That’s it.  Keep breathing.  You’re going to feel a cold pressure increasing as the probe goes in but it shouldn’t hurt.  Tell me if it does.”

Once Sherlock nodded his understanding, John pressed the probe inside gently, slowly.  “There it is.  You alright?”

“I’m fine.  Get on with it.”  Sherlock sounded miserable.

“Okay.  Let me just …”  He began moving the probe as needed and pressing buttons on the machine as he went.  “Keep breathing, Sherlock.  Almost there.”

He gently and efficiently finished the exam and removed the probe.  When Sherlock attempted to roll back, John stopped him with a gentle hand.  “Hang on.  I’ll just get all this sticky gunk.”  He carefully removed the gel with a soft towel.  “Alright.  Not sure if that was the worst part, but two down, one to go and then we can go home and get completely hammered.”

Sherlock smiled as he turned onto his back once more.  “Hammered and completely oblivious sounds delightful right now.”

“Agreed.”  John washed his hands and donned a new pair of exam gloves.  “Alright, this takes less than five minutes usually.  I know you’ve had one before, but I’m going to tell you what to expect anyway because I’m pretty sure your last doctor was an imbecile in bad need of a proper shag so he wouldn’t have to take his frustrations out on his patients.”

Sherlock laughed. 

“This is a cystoscope.”  He held up the long, black wire, a bit thicker than a straw, with a handle on the end.  “See here is the camera end”  he showed the blunt end to Sherlock,  “and then it sends me the image to the larger end so I can see what it sees.” He showed, in turn, the bigger, handled end with a surface similar to a microscope eyepiece.  “They do have the ability to put the image up onto a screen but that takes a bit to set up and we don’t have time for it.  You might get an erection, you might piss yourself.  Either is expected so don’t bother with being embarrassed.  You alright?”

“Sounds delightful.”  Sherlock huffed.  “Yes, I’m fine.”

“Starting to feel a bit numb down there?”

Sherlock concentrated a moment and then stated.  “I feel something’s not quite right.  I think your medication was effective.”

“Alright, good.”  He moved closer.  “Let’s get you into the stirrups then, shall we?”

Sherlock nodded and pushed himself down on the table so his hips were aligned with the tops of the stirrups. 

“Good.”  John pulled the sheet back to look at the position his patient was in.  “Bring yourself down until you feel my hand against your bum.”  Sherlock adjusted himself.  “Perfect.  I’m just going to bend your legs just so.”  He pulled the sheet down over the man’s private parts as much as possible given the position as he placed each of Sherlock’s legs into the stirrups.  “Alright then.  I’m just going to put more lubricant onto the scope.”

Sherlock looked amazed at the site of the elongated tube being entirely doused with lubricant.  “Is that entire thing going inside of me?”

John looked sheepish.  “Well, no, of course not.  But you do have an exceptionally long … urethra.”

Sherlock smiled warmly.  “Why thank you, John.  How nice of you to say.”

They were both caught in a moment of inappropriate laughter, both turning a bit red.   

John was the first to recover.  “Well then, huge cock aside …”

“I should hope not given what you’re about to do to it.”  They both laughed once more. 

“Alright, Sherlock.  Relax your pelvic muscles.”  He took a firm hold of Sherlock’s penis once more, guiding the scope inside.  “Good job.  Here we go.”  Carefully he advanced the scope, examining the structures as he went.  Soon he was inside the man’s bladder.  “You’ll feel pressure while I fill your bladder with fluid.”

“Holy …”

“I know.  Sorry.  Try to relax.  Almost done.”  John felt badly when he heard a whimper coming from his patient.  He couldn’t stop though until he was sure he had visualized the tissue completely and thoroughly.  Nothing short of perfectly done would do.  Not for any patient of his, especially for Sherlock.  Finally he withdrew the scope slowly.  “Alright then.”  Placing the scope aside, John grabbed a large cylinder and placed it under Sherlock, guiding his penis toward it.  “Go ahead and void, Sherlock.”

“Right here?”  Sherlock’s voice sounded strained.

“Yes, I’ve got it.  Relax and piss.”

“Oh, gawd.”  Sherlock shouted in obvious relief as his bladder emptied.  “That is the strongest stream of urine I’ve had all week.”

“Yes, the pressure on your prostate from the ultrasound probe probably helped your symptoms temporarily.”  John watched the last of the fluid dribble out.  “Finished?”

“Yes.”

“The fluid is slightly pink.  That’s to be expected.  It will take about three days for that to go away.  If you notice any more than a slightly pink tinge or it lasts longer than three days, tell me.”

“Okay.”

“Good.  Push yourself back.”  John helped him get his feet out of the stirrups and get comfortable.  Making his way toward the sink he instructed Sherlock to just stay put for a few moments.  When John returned to his bedside, he pulled the sheet back down to expose Sherlock’s genitals once more.  “Keep this in place for a few minutes.  It will help with the stinging sensation at the tip of your penis.”  A very warm, wet cloth was wrapped around said area and Sherlock melted at the sensation.

“Oh, that is very nice.  Well done.  Very well done.”

John smiled and returned without comment to the task of cleaning up. 

Once everything was cleaned enough to pass inspection, John came over with a phlebotomists tray and pulled at Sherlock’s cuffs, getting them out of his way.  “Sorry, but I need a blood sample as well.  We’ll stop by Bart’s and drop it off at their lab on the way home.  Theirs is open twenty-four hours, even on Saturdays.  The lab here doesn’t open until nine.”

Sherlock nodded groggily.  He had been so relaxed, he’d almost fallen asleep.  He felt the pressure of the tourniquette around his upper arm, the cold wetness of the alcohol wipe and then it occurred to him, “Can I have some too?”

John stopped the forward thrust of the needle to look at Sherlock.  He rolled his eyes.  “Sure, why not.  I’ll draw an extra tube so you can take it home to play with.”

“Thank you, John.  You really are my best friend.”  And with that he felt the sharp poke and watched as his blood filled the vials quickly.  “How many tests are you doing?”

“A few.  I’m going to do the usual, PSA and blood culture, but I also want hormone levels, testosterone, parathyroid …”

“Parathyroid?”

“Yes, sometimes an excess of parathyroid hormone can cause an increase in PSA levels which I’m guessing are going to be somewhat elevated as well.”  He removed the needle after filling the last vial and placed a gauze in the crook of Sherlock’s elbow. 

“I did not know that.”

John smiled.  “Presumably, that’s why I’m here.”  He bent his patients arm upward and held it there a few moments.  “Feeling alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“Good.  We have to get you sorted and change the exam table paper.  Dr Mumford could be in at any time now.”

Sherlock looked awkwardly at his watch while John held his arm up.  “Oh.”  He sat up quickly.  “Just grab a piece of tape.  Quickly.”

John taped down the gauze and then handed Sherlock his pile of clothing. 

They both moved about the room quickly, getting all of the equipment back in the correct order, removing their garbage and collecting their samples carefully.  By the time they went to leave, it looked like nobody had been there since the day before.  They turned the lights off in the exam suite and were just about to open the door when they heard the booming voice of Malcolm calling out for Dr Mumford. 

John whispered, “Oh, fuck.  He’s right outside the door.  The sodding git.  I bet he does wank on his fucking machines this early in the damn morning.”  He pulled on Sherlock’s coat sleeve.  “C’mon.   There’s another door at the other end of the suite through the breakroom.  It leads out to another hall.”

 

By the time they waved their thanks to Malcolm for the distraction, made it to the street, hailed a cab and were on their way to St Bart’s, they were laughing hysterically.

“That was, hands down, the funnest medical procedure I’ve ever had in my life.”  Sherlock blew out a loud breath.  “Well, the procedures themselves aside, I think, but the intrigue …”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, John.  You were brilliant.”

John sighed, regaining his composure as well.  He placed a hand upon Sherlock’s knee.  It felt comfortable there.  Just a friendly gesture he told himself, until Sherlock looked at the hand, then back at John and … something.  He couldn’t place that look.  It wasn’t recognition of friendship, that lazy smile and a nod.  No.  Fear?  No, not Sherlock.  Afraid of what?  John removed the hand easily.  “Ha, I almost said ‘my pleasure’, but that would be completely inappropriate.”

Sherlock smiled.

“You’re welcome, Sherlock.” 

A few minutes passed in silence before Sherlock interrupted it.  “Won’t you need another sample to send to the lab?”  he asked while he stared out the window, purposely not making eye contact.

“Yes.  I’ll need seminal fluid, but I’m not doing that today.  You’ve been examined and depleted of enough fluids for one day.  It seems sort of tail to top the order I’ve done things but I’m going to do a complete physical on you tomorrow.  I’ll get the sample then.” 

“Do you have a shift today?”

“No.  I’m yours.  All day today.”  He quirked a small smile when Sherlock finally looked at him once again. 

“Then, if I could possibly ask you of another favor, could you … do you mind terribly if we just get this all over with today?  I would rather not wait.  I’d rather have answers.” 

John nodded.  “I don’t mind at all. I just didn’t want to push you. We should be able to find some exam space at St Bart’s.”  He checked his watch.  “The day shift should be coming on shortly.  I know a few A&E docs that won’t mind if I commandeer an exam area.” At the uncomfortable look on Sherlock’s face, he added, “or I can do it in our flat.”

“Yes, please.”

“Alright.”  It would mean that he would have to make another trip across town to St Bart’s lab again, but if that made Sherlock more comfortable, then he would do it.  “I’ll get a prescription of antibiotics and a specimen cup while we’re there.” 

“I thought you said we weren’t going to try antibiotics.”

“No, I said it was smart to proceed to the next step as well but not that I was cutting them out altogether.  This might simply be a bacterial infection.  A short course of cipro and all is well.”

Sherlock smiled a tolerant smile seemingly knowing that was not going to be the case. 

 

Once they arrived back in the flat, knowing what was to come next, each of them attempted a mask of indifference and then just plain awkwardness. 

“Look, Sherlock.  We both damn well know what I’ve just done to you and what I’m going to do next.  If you want someone else for this part, say the word.  I just don’t want this to make a mess of our friendship.”

“I don’t want anyone else, John.”

“Then why is this so awkward all of a sudden?”

“It’s probably to do with the finger up the arse thing, wouldn’t you say?”

John laughed.  “A brandy first then?”

“Oh yes, splendid idea.” 

“I do come up with them now and again.” 

 

Sherlock’s blood pressure, temperature and heart rate were taken before they had their second shot so as not to askew his vital signs data if he became too pissed.

After a few games of Cluedo, in which Sherlock deduced that the death of the Black Dog, who, in fact, was not dead, Mrs Peacock then committed suicide and Mr Boddy did hide the body next to the dog’s in the billiard room.  Who buries a dog in a billiard room anyway?

“Okay, enough Cluedo for you.”

“No such thing.  You’re just upset that this game regularly fools you but it cannot fool me.”

“That’s because you don’t pay attention to the rules.”

“The rules are wrong, John.” 

John huffed and finished putting the pieces back into the box.  “Finish your shot.”

“Ah, yes.  Are we a bit more comfortable with our next activities then?”

“I don’t know.  Are you?”

“I’m ready, John.  Your room, I suppose?”

“Where you’re most comfortable.  I can come to yours if you like.”

“No, your room.”

“Alright.  Go change into your dressing gown, nothing else on and come upstairs.”

“I can keep my socks on, I take it?”

John snickered.  “Yes, you can keep your socks on.”

Sherlock made it to the hallway before he turned around.  “Would you mind if I take a shower first?”

John shook his head.  “No, of course not.  Go ahead. I like it when my patients don’t smell up the room.”  He smiled

Sherlock returned the smile.  “Always willing to make you more comfortable.”

 

John waited several minutes, watched the last few minutes of the TV gameshow, and then he washed his hands and went upstairs to set up. 

Sherlock stepped into John’s doorway, hair still wet and clinging to his forehead.  “Should I knock?”

“Come in, Sherlock.  Have a seat.”  John ushered him foreword to sit on the side of John’s bed.  “Nothing big to start with, I’m just going to listen to your heart and your lungs.  Open your dressing gown and let it fall to your lap, please.”

John heated up the diaphragm of the stethoscope by breathing on it and holding it in the palm of his hand.  “Sorry if this is a bit cold.”  He moved it to several spots on Sherlock’s chest and back.  “Sounds great.  Very normal and regular.” 

Sherlock nodded.

John sat on a desk chair across from Sherlock.  “I’m just going to feel your lymph glands.”  He pressed his hands with flat palms up to the area under Sherlock’s jaw and around his neck.  “Alright, raise this arm for me a bit.  Checking more glands.”  He pressed again to the area under his patient’s arm and then the other.  After he checked pulses in the upper extremities, he hoped Sherlock wasn’t as tense as he had obviously been. 

John stood.  “You can put your gown back on.”

Sherlock put his arms back into his dressing gown and pulled it back around himself.  “Shall I lie down next?”

“Yes, please.”  John had pulled out a clean bed sheet and draped it over Sherlock, attempting to allow him as much privacy as he would allow any other patient.  “Warm enough?” 

“I’m fine.”

With practiced finesse, John moved the sheet and dressing gown aside to examine Sherlock’s abdomen.  He checked more glands, more peripheral pulses, then donned fresh gloves.  “Time to stand up, Sherlock.” 

“Is this the turn-your-head-and-cough part or the bend-over part?”

“Turn-your-head comes before bend-over.” 

“Right.”  He opened his gown and stood stiffly, shifting.  “Well, this is ridiculous.  What do I do with my hands?”  He dropped them to his side, then shifted a hip, then cocked one hand on a hip.  Smiling, he settled both hands on his hips and jutted them forward in a perfect imitation of Superman, blue dressing gown flowing behind him.  “Appropriate, I should think given the exceptionally long urethra I have.”

John laughed outright.  “That’s perfect.  Absolutely bloody perfect.” 

After the coughing business he announced.  “You don’t have a hernia.”

“Of course not.  Men of steel would have no such weakness.”

“Of course not.  I’m going to do examine your … parts more closely.  Just stay where you are.”  John sat back down, bringing all the necessary “parts” into direct line of sight.   He felt the weight and girth of Sherlock’s penis more fully in his hand. 

“Careful …”  Sherlock hissed.  “It’s a bit sensitive.”

“Have a wank in the shower?”

Sherlock’s face twitched.  “Tried to.  Test anxiety, I suppose.”  He smiled.

John manhandled the testicles, feeling each in turn, checking for nodules or irregularities.  “Have any pain when you tried?”

“Yes.  I had to stop.  Completely frustrating.” 

“That ever happen before?”  He could feel the organ in his hand fill and become more firm.  He ignored it as any physician would while he finished his exam.

“No, not this time.  Ten years ago, yes.”   Sherlock hissed as his cock became more engorged.  “I remember needing to come so badly it was painful but not wanting the pain that came with it until it progressed to complete dysfunction.  I could reach a peak but then not be able to go over the edge.”

“Sounds frustrating.”

Sherlock looked down at John who still had his very erect cock in his hands.  “Indeed.” 

“Whoa, sorry.”  John, visibly shaken, stood abruptly and discarded his gloves into the bin.  “Sorry, Sherlock.  I was listening to you and … forgot to let go.  I didn’t mean … I apologize.”

“John, it’s fine.  Really, it is.  You have this … you make me feel beautiful.”

“What?”  John gasped.  He didn’t want him to feel like anything other than a patient, not the gorgeous, amazing, lithe, beautiful creature that he was.  Just a patient.  His patient.  He hadn’t wanted him to be uncomfortably appreciative of any stray looks John may have partaken in.  Patients shouldn’t feel physically appreciated when they are forced out of their clothing and into positions perfect for ogling. 

“The way you look at me.  Nobody has ever looked at me like you do.”

“Oh yes they have.”

Sherlock smiled.  “Then I’ve deleted it.  You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted to look at me like that.”

“Sherlock?”

“Don’t tell me how inappropriate this is.  It isn’t.  It’s a perfectly natural progression.”

“No, it’s called Nightingale syndrome.  You appreciate how I’ve taken care of you.  I would be a cad if I took advantage of your vulnerable state.  I know your history with other medical professionals, I’ve made sure to treat you with care.  It’s made you feel things you don’t really feel.”

“Don’t be absurd.  I’ve felt like this since I met you, SIX months ago.”

“I’m not … What?”

“Six months ago, when I achieved my first erection in over ten years?  Remember?”

“Oh … so you?”

“Yes.”

“Sherlock?  This isn’t … “

“John.  Don’t be dense.”

John warred with himself internally not sure if he could drop his own professional boundaries but the thought of being able to touch Sherlock, not as a doctor or a friend, was a huge carrot to dangle in front of him.  It took a few moments for what Sherlock was saying to actually sink in.  In retrospect, he supposed it wasn’t such an outlandish progression.  They were, essentially, lovers in every aspect of that word except for the physical one.  It appeared as though that barrier was being broken as well.  “And we can…?”

“Oh, definitely yes.”

“It seems highly inappropriate to kiss you as your doctor, but completely out of the question to not kiss you considering.”

“You better kiss me, John.” 

“Yes, quite.”  In two steps in he was in front of his best friend … his lover.  Grabbing his face with both hands, he pulled the taller man toward him.  “Gawd”  he whispered before taking his mouth with his own.  Tongues searched, explored, neither insisting on dominance.  John snaked his hands beneath the dressing gown, feeling, touching, never able to feel quite enough, but still feeling overwhelmed.  He pulled away regretfully.  He kissed Sherlock’s bottom lip, his neck.  “God, you’re so … naked.”

Sherlock laughed quietly.  “You could be too.”

“No, I have to make you come.”

“Uh, no objections.”

“Hmm … oh, right.”  John collected himself, stilling his hands on each of Sherlock’s hips.  “No, I mean, I need to get the sample.  I know it’s not the most romantic thing I’ll probably ever say, but, trust me, I’ll make up for it in time.” 

“You do have a way with words, stud.”  Sherlock stole another kiss and smiled warmly.  “Where do you want me?”

“Still bent-over.” 

Sherlock winced.

“I’m sorry.  Again, not romantic at all, I know.  I need gravity working with us, just long enough to get what I need.  I promise, I’ll get naked directly after.”

“You’re going to massage my prostate?”

“Yes.  I’m not going to make you come without me though.  I just need a few drops.  I will push them down by rubbing your prostate, collect the sample.”

“Then we have naked fun.”  Sherlock clarified.

“Yes, then we have all the naked fun you like.”

“Take of your jumper.”  Sherlock demanded.

“What?”

“You’ve seen mine, it’s only fair.  It’s actually not in the least fair.  As you’ve said, I’m naked.  The least …”

“Okay.  Never let it be said that I wasn’t the least bit fair.”  He smiled and quickly removed his jumper and undershirt. 

Sherlock smiled appreciatively and reached for the newly exposed skin and muscle.  “Beautiful.” 

John tilted his head tolerantly. 

“You look as though you don’t believe me.”

“I’m a …  compared to you…?  Ugh … holy jeez.”  John’s eyes stopped roaming when he found the man’s cock.

Sherlock looked down.  His cock was completely hard and jutted out at a 90 degree angle from his body.  He took hold of it and gave a couple off-handed strokes.  “Do you have anything that might help an exceptionally elongated urethra  Doctor Watson?”

John laughed.  “You’re a mess, you know that?”  They kissed again.  “Yeah, I think I might have something to help.”

Sherlock moaned in delight as John’s hands continued to roam across his body.  He tried to be more participatory but John kept holding his hands at bay, moving them to a non-volatile location.  He became more frustrated and more aroused at the same time.  John stroked his cock, pebbled his skin with warm kisses all over his body.  Without realizing it, he was turned around and the kisses began assaulting the back of his neck, behind his ears, those spots that were even more erogenous than stroking his cock. 

“Ungh … gawd …”  was about all the sound Sherlock could muster at the moment.  He felt John’s denim-clad cock press against his backside, grind into him.  A strong arm held him tightly around the waist as kisses were rained down upon his back, right down the center over his spinal column.  He let out a breathy “Oh” as he realized he was being bent over, lowered to the bed.  “Well done, Doctor.  Well done indeed.”  Instead of feeling the coldness of overexposure to his backside though, he felt John right up against him, keeping him warm.  So much less awkward.

“Spread your legs apart for me, babe.”

Sherlock complied with a soft growl.  He liked the term of endearment John chose to call him. 

“This is gonna feel wet.”  John warned before he spread the lubricant all over Sherlock’s backside.  Sherlock startled a bit but recovered quickly.  “You alright?”

“Yes, John.”

“Okay, slight pressure.”

“Oh … oh god.” 

“Is it painful?”  John asked. 

“No.  No, I wouldn’t say that.” 

“Okay, just relax.  It is very important that you do not clench up.  Deep breaths and relax.”

“No worries.”

John found the gland easily, checked for the size, shape and feel of it.  “I’m going to check your rectal wall.”

“So romantic, John.  Talk dirty to me.”

He playfully smacked Sherlock’s hip.  “I feel like I’m balancing on one foot and juggling at the same time.  Trust me, I will be right with you, you cheeky git.”  He rotated his finger clockwise and then counterclockwise to complete the examination.  Surreptitiously, he grabbed the nearby specimen container and held it with his right hand, making sure to keep the head of Sherlock’s penis inside of the cup, without touching the sides.  Finally, he found the gland with the tip of his left finger once more and began to stroke it gently.  He found the left lateral border and stroked toward the center.  He then found the right lateral border and stroked toward the center once more.  Left border, in.  Right border, in. 

“John!”  Sherlock moaned.  “Please … ugh…”

“Just a few more strokes.  Hang in there.  Relax and breathe.”

“Oh, my god!”

Left border, in.  Right border, in.  John concentrated on making his strokes even and gentle.  It didn’t take long before John had enough to use for a sample.  “Okay.  It’s over.  I’m removing my finger.”

Sherlock tightened his muscles.  “Actually …” Sherlock began stroking his own cock. 

John stopped.  “Tell me what you need, Sherlock.”

Sherlock sounded short of breath.  “John.”  He gasped.  “Could you just … whatever you’re doing … it’s relieving the pressure.  I’m so close … at the risk of sounding completely unromantic myself, could you … just…”

“Keep stroking you?  Absolutely.”  John placed the sample carefully on his desk while maintaining his ministrations inside of Sherlock.  Once that was taken care of, he turned his clinical side completely off and gave his … boyfriend???  The full attention he needed. 

With a gentle hand John’s fingers wondered around Sherlock’s back then migrated southward toward the sac held high and tight to Sherlock’s body.  He was so close.  John wished he could see his face, hold him more closely.  The best he could do was stand behind him, kiss his back and grind his hips into Sherlock’s to let him know he was still there.  Well that, and continue to stroke his prostate.  Left border, in. Right border, in.  God, his finger was in Sherlock’s ass.  Sherlock wanted it to be there.  He was stroking Sherlock’s prostate.  Not in a clinical way but in an intimate way.  He nipped at the swell of Sherlock’s buttock, took a lick of his skin. 

“John.  Ugh … god, please.  Yes, there.  Please!” 

“You taste so good.  I want your come, Sherlock.  Please.”

“Oh!” 

Sherlock’s knees nearly gave out on him as his come splattered against John’s bed.  John held him up, letting him stroke himself to completion and then some.  Finally, John lowered him easily and manhandled him into the bed properly.  Sherlock was sound asleep, looking extremely pleased and satisfied. 

For their first time together he had fantasized about how that would be.  It was definitely not this, but John didn’t feel inclined to care at the moment.  Sherlock was well and truly his.  There would be time for perfect, for romantic, but in that moment, everything was perfect.  Sherlock was well and truly blissed out, post-orgasmic, cuddled up in his bed, dressing gown open, messy with come.  In John’s bed. 

John went to the loo and grabbed a warm cloth.  Returning, he cleaned Sherlock off as completely as he could and covered him with a blanket.  Wanting nothing more than to curl up next to his lover, he cursed the blasted sample staring at him from the desk. 

“Dammit.”

 

An hour later, John ran up the steps, passing by Mrs Hudson in such an expeditious way he was afraid it might have been considered rude.  Oh well, he would have to apologize later.  He had a well-fucked, post-coital Sherlock in his bed and he wanted nothing more than to return to that nice, warm bed and snuggle up with the object of his every desire. 

“Hello.”

John just about jumped out of his skin when Sherlock’s unmistakable voice boomed at him from the sitting room.  “What?  Why?”  His vision of quietly disrobing and cuddling up to Sherlock’s warm, blissed-out body had just been heart-breakingly shattered.

“Where is the proper question, I think.”

“What?”  John was confused.

“Where, John.  Where is my sample?”

“Your wh…?”  Realization dawned rapidly and he face-palmed already thinking of exactly how he was going to apologize and regretting that the chances of herding Sherlock back to post-coital, naked heaven were somewhere between nil and zero

“So, I’m to understand that you, Doctor,”  He emphasized that word like it was foul.  “…not only completely flummoxed our first-time by your faulty prioritizing …”

“But, you …”

Sherlock continued as though John had said nothing.  “… but then you left me in bed, alone, after a very intense but extremely one-sided shag.  And for the icing on the cake, you didn’t even leave me with a drop of my own semen sample.” 

John looked ashamed.  “I guess that wraps it all up with a bow then, doesn’t it.”  He stepped closer.  “Sher, I’m so sorry.  There is nothing I wanted more than to be with you properly and to stay with you.  I know I’ve been a sodding wanker, but, if I may, in my own defense, I was thinking of you … of your health.  You told me you wanted answers, that you didn’t want to wait.  I admit, piss-poor timing, but I didn’t want you to have to go through that again.  You needed me to think like a doctor for a few more minutes and I did, for you.  When I left you were completely blissed out.  I knew you hadn’t slept at all in at least 36 hours.  I thought you would sleep well after I got back from the lab.”

“Well, I woke up twenty minutes later, by myself.  Not good, John.  Completely, utterly, not good.” 

With his hands out in a universal ‘I come in peace’ gesture, John slowly made his way toward Sherlock.  He sat next to him on the sofa.  “I’m sorry you woke up by yourself.”

Sherlock elbowed him in the ribs.  “Stop being patronizing.  I’m not a child.”

John rubbed at his side protecting his ribs from further blows.  “You’re right.  Let me make it up to you.”

“That sounds more promising.”  Sherlock still looked indignant.  “What did you have in mind?”

“We won’t be able to fuck tonight.”  John clarified. 

Sherlock spinned on him to face John closely.  “Why?”  Sherlock nearly whined.

“Because, I don’t want your prostate stimulated anymore for a couple of days, at least.  I can’t take you because it would stimulate your gland.  You can’t take me because I am ready to blow any minute now and I won’t last long enough for the serious prep work that would have to be done to get me ready to take you.”  John glanced down in the direction of Sherlock’s crotch.

“Again, with the romance.  Is this how you talk to your girlfriends?”  Sherlock huffed. 

“Well, none of them ever had a huge cock, so I suppose not.”

“If you continue to talk to me as though you have suddenly become completely daft, I will punch you right in the face, Jonathan Hamish …”

“I know what you meant.  I’m sorry, I’m sorry.   I promise, I am a romantic fool usually and how could I not be when I’m so completely, madly and passionately in love with you.  I made you feel alone after such a huge milestone in our relationship.  For that I apologize.  Sincerely.”  He placed a kiss, soft and gentle on Sherlock’s forehead.  “I’m sorry Sherlock.  It won’t happen again.”

“You said you love me.”

“I know.  I meant it.”

“This, just to warn you, is another milestone in our relationship.  I better not wake up alone.”

John kissed Sherlock’s lips.  “Promise.”

Sherlock pulled John with him as he lay down on the sofa, deepening the kiss.  John easily followed his lover to a horizontal position, straddling Sherlock’s waist.  John was happy that Sherlock hadn’t seen fit to put on additional clothing while he waited for him to return.  Getting straight to the skin to skin contact was a wonderfully easy matter.  His hands roamed over the gloriously smooth skin of Sherlock’s chest and abdomen until he was abruptly pushed away from Sherlock’s face, effectively ending a perfectly amazing kiss.

“Wha …?”  John stammered.

“Bedroom.”  Sherlock demanded.

“Oh, yes.  Of course.”  John was a bit shocked that Sherlock would want to go somewhere so vanilla as a bedroom for this, but, he was not averse at all.  Rising to his feet, he offered a hand to Sherlock and pulled him to his as well.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.  “John, we can christen the sofa anytime you like, or the kitchen table or over the sink if you’d rather, but I like the lighting in your room and I have every intention of using that light to look over every single centimeter of you this time.  I have yet to see you completely naked and am finding that highly frustrating at the moment so shall we continue?”

John was struck speechless at the thought of Sherlock taking in his fill, looking over John’s naked body as though it were his personal experiment, learning every mark, every curve, every line.  “Uh …”  He stopped trying to make intelligent sounds and simply nodded and lead the way upstairs, Sherlock very definitely following. 

Sherlock closed the door once they were both inside.  He stopped John from removing his own jumper. 

“I want to undress you.”  Sherlock growled into John’s ear. 

John had an automatic, visceral reaction to such an intimate touch and felt his knees go weak.  Strong hands held him up against the door as he felt Sherlocks lips close to his, just breathing him in.  Sherlock’s hands roamed up his sides, under the jumper, under the shirt.  John felt spent already, completely and utterly weakened by the touch his gaze mesmerized by Sherlock’s eyes locked with his own.  “Ugh … gawd.” 

The shirts were rucked up to his armpits.  His arms were manhandled above his head, wrists crossed and held in place by one strong hand.  Sherlock didn’t have to order him to keep them there, he just knew not to move them. 

John hissed as Sherlock roamed down his body, taking in each nipple, lapping it gently at first and then taking the nub between his teeth.  John arched his back pushing himself into the touch, hips coming away from the wall.  Sherlock smiled at him, a devious smile and moved on.  Moved down.  Gentle kisses, gentle fingers caressed John’s sides, followed the path of hair down his chest, down his belly, the line hiding under John’s trousers. 

“You’re so beautiful.”  Sherlock breathed, lips never leaving John’s skin.  He moved lower until he was on his knees in front of John.  He spared a look upwards and liked that John had his arms over his head still as though Sherlock had chained them there.  “Beautiful.”  He beamed as he took John’s belt in his hands and began to undo the fly. 

Watson was usually a very grounded man.  Very intent on practicality and reality, but here, now.  no such things existed.  He knew he could move, was physically able to move, but was nailed to the door in his own sort of crucifixion.  He was coming undone.  The cooler air registered to his lower half as his trousers and pants were dragged to his ankles in one go.  He gasped and opened his eyes to see his Sherlock … beautiful, pale-skinned, dark-haired Sherlock sitting on his knees looking up at him.  John’s cock jutted out in want from his body, was so near to that beautiful, red-hot, perfectly shaped mouth. 

Sherlock did not make him wait very long before he grabbed the cock in front of him and licked a long stripe with his tongue meeting John’s skin from the base of his penis, slowly, maddeningly slowly, to the tip of his glands. 

“Oh, fuck!”  John had to squeeze his eyes closed to stop himself from painting Sherlock’s face with his come right there and then. 

Wisely, Sherlock backed off immediately.  He sat back on his haunches and looked up.  “So beautiful.  Look at you.  Completely debautched from armpit to ankles, cock leaking and wet wanting so desperately to be touched and needing so desperately for this to last.”

John shook his head.  The voice.  That beautiful, baritone voice.  He may as well be humming against his balls for all the effect just hearing it caused.  “Sherlock … please.  I can’t …”

“You’re afraid this won’t last.”

“It won’t last.  It can’t.  I’m so … so close.”

Sherlock rose to his feet.  Kissed John on his lips and pulled back.  “Trust me, John.  It’s going to last.”

John shook his head doubtfully then felt Sherlock’s body press up against his, fingertips to knees.  “Oh, god!  Sherlock … Sherlock, that’s ugh …”  He rutted against Sherlock, unable to stop himself as his hands were physically held up and pressed into the door, their chests heaving in tune, their groins pressed hotly against one another. 

“Do you have supplies in here, John?”

Slowly, John’s thoughts attempted to find the answer to Sherlock’s question.  He knew the answer was somewhere within his brain.  “Yes … yes, top drawer.  Nightstand.” 

“Typical.”

John heaved, breathless.  “Sorry to be so predictable.”

“It’s practical I suppose.”  Sherlock conceded as he helped John out of his last vestiges of clothing.  Grabbing John’s hand, he pulled him along and assisted him to lie down on the bed before ruffling through John’s supplies. 

Still attempting to gain control, to slow his breathing, John opened hazy eyes and finally took in Sherlock’s movements.  He noticed Sherlock had divested himself of the dressing gown and stood naked.  He quirked an eyebrow when Sherlock plopped a square foil packet upon the mattress along with the tube of lube.  “Sherlock?”

“You told me that you couldn’t bottom because you wouldn’t last long enough through the preparations which indicates that you have no qualms with receiving, am I correct?”

“I don’t have a problem with … receiving … I just …”

“Have never done this before?”

John nodded.

“I know.  I’ll be careful.”  Sherlock flipped open the cap and placed a generous amount of the gooey substance onto two of his fingers before kneeling between John’s knees.

“But you haven’t …”

“It’s called research, John.  I’ve done loads of it.”

“Sherlock?”  He felt the cool gel against very tender skin.  “Sherlock, I’m going to come.  I’m so close.”

“Not yet, John.”  Sherlock braced himself up with one arm, hovering directly over John as he used his other hand to gently caress John’s perineum and the sensitive skin of his entrance.  Sherlock was aware of all of the nerve endings located in that area and so chose not to linger too long before pushing a single finger inside, one-knuckle deep.  John’s gasp against Sherlock’s skin was intoxicating.  An electric frission of heat engulfed him in a scintillating wave starting with his toes and caressing its way warmly up through his body, up to his head before finally settling the concentrated heat at his core.  Those noises were delicious.  Absolutely delicious.  He pushed in deeper into John’s body and smiled at the success when he heard that sound once again.  Felt the pressure of the breath escape John and land on Sherlock’s cheek.  He lowered himself closer, needing to feel his lips against his own. 

John turned his head to the side after a brief brush of lips.  “Sherlock … ugh …”  John squeezed his eyes closed once again.  “Sherlock … you can’t … don’t touch me at all except to … I’m sorry, but if you want inside me before I come, you can’t … you can’t touch me, or talk … please, just … oh god, please Sherlock.”  John’s body was a bundle of tense muscles.  It took all he had to not thrust upward, his body begging for the friction he knew hovered inches above him.  His arms flailed to his sides not wanting to take in the muscled arms of his lover, the smooth expanses of skin that would send him so easily over the edge. 

Sherlock debated sitting back on his haunches and watching his own fingers move inside of John’s body, preparing him.  If he moved back away from John, it would probably be more comfortable for John to keep himself in control and prevent him from coming.  If he did that, however, then he would miss those delicious and satisfying noises and he wanted those.  Every single one of them.  He wanted the feel of his breath on his cheek every time he pushed inside of John with his finger.  Oh, the breath that escaped his lover when he added a second finger was … ugh, god … so fucking gorgeous.  He wished he could keep every single breath that escaped John unbidden as he gasped and tried not to undulate beneath him.  He would lock each and every one of them up in their own box and open them one at a time, slowly, next to his ear to keep John next to him on the days John would have to leave his side. 

Oh, the third finger … Sherlock had to stop moving his hand and just listen to John breathe against him for a few moments.  Oh, the third finger did wicked, wicked things to Sherlock’s cock.  In an exercise of pure selfishness, he sunk lower, not touching, not quite and he sniffed John, taking in his scent as if his brain had de-evolved thousands of years and could process human pheromones.  Primal need engorged him causing that base heat in the middle of his core to ramp up several notches at once. 

Sherlock removed his fingers from John causing yet another delicious gasp.  John finally opened his eyes. 

“Sherlock?”

“I’ve got you.  No worries.”  Sherlock quickly slid the condom on then slicked up his cock. 

“Sherlock, I’m going to come.  I don’t think I can …”

“Not yet, love.  As soon as I’m inside, you can come.”

“I told you I wasn’t going to last.”

“Oh, I’m not done with you yet.  It’s going to last.  Trust me.”  Sherlock rubbed the side of John’s cheek.  “I’ll go slow.  It’ll be easier if you’re on your belly.”

“No, not the first time.  I want to … I want to see you.”

Sherlock smiled.  “I know.  Me too.”  He lined up his cock to John’s entrance and pushed.  John tensed and attempted to push his knees back together.  “Shh … relax, John.”  Sherlock nudged John’s knees apart once again and pushed them up toward John’s chest, opening him further. 

“Oh!”  John felt the tip of Sherlock’s cock breach him.  “Ow, oh … God, Sherlock … uh … fuck!”

“John, listen to me.  You’re not relaxing.  You’ve tensed up.  Take a breath.”

John shook his head and attempted to pull away. 

Sherlock wrapped John up in his arms.  Hopefully to calm but also served to anchor John in place.  “John, open your eyes.  Do it.”  He commanded.

Finally, John opened his eyes, finding his lover’s calming gaze. 

“Take a breath.”

John dragged a deep breath in and allowed it to release from his body. 

“Better?”

John nodded and tilted his chin up for another kiss.  “Sorry.  Hurts like a bitch though.”

“It gets so much better.”

“I know.”  They remained still, Sherlock’s cock head stilled just inside of John’s arse, both of them breathing within each other’s space.  “I feel like an idiot.”

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow.  “Why should you feel like an idiot?  You have no prior experience to go on.”

“Well, I am a doctor though, right.  I could bloody well know what to expect.  I panicked.  Sorry.”

Sherlock kissed him sweetly.  “No apologies.”  He rubbed a thumb across John’s cheek.  “I do love you, you know.”

John smiled.  Yes, he probably had known that, but it felt nice to hear it anyway.  “I know.”  He kissed the top of Sherlock’s head, then his eyelids, his amazing cheekbones and finally those red lips, seemingly begging to be kissed.  Built for being kissed, in fact. 

“Mmm … John?  Can I please, continue?”  Sherlock asked. 

“Yes.”  John clenched around Sherlock’s cock still inside him, testing.  It was still burning, low and solid.  Nearly throbbed, but not quite. 

“You’re tensing up again.”

“No, no … I’m just … feeling.”

“John, we don’t have to do this.”

“I want to, Sherlock.  I want you.  Want to feel you.  I’ve never felt this close to anyone, ever.  This is nice.”  He shifted his bottom a bit, angling more upward allowing more of the thick cock to enter him.  He groaned.  “Well, I think it will be nice, once I’m properly …”  he attempted to shift and finally plopped his head back against the pillow once more.  “…relaxed.”

Sherlock smiled.  “I think I can help with that.” 

“I bet you can.”  John allowed his mouth to be opened for the kiss. 

“Touch me, John.  Feel me.”  Sherlock instructed. 

John snaked his hand between them going for Sherlock’s cock. 

Sherlock broke away from the kiss and locked eyes with John.  “No, not there.  Use your hands, both of them.  Feel my arms.  They’re taut, keeping myself above you without hurting you.  My shoulders locked to bear my weight.  Feel my back, down my spine, my buttocks, all yours, John.  Every muscle, every fiber yours and hungry with desire for you.  Feel your legs, bent and open, resting at my sides, ready to take me in. 

John listened to that voice, that calming, sexy, voice as he lazily pulled his hands up Sherlock’s arms, feeling the tight muscles contracted there, up around to his shoulders, locked in place, hovering above him.  He tugged slightly at those beautiful dark curls at the nape of his neck before his fingertips traced the line straight down Sherlock’s spine, guarded on each side by the contracted muscles.  John named the muscles easily in his head as his fingers danced along the broad expanse.  Finally they met with the beautiful swell and the base of his spine into those gorgeous fleshy ass cheeks.  Gently, ghosting over as his spine continued down into the crack of Sherlock’s ass, his coccyx.  Each hand separated, grabbing handfuls of the flesh above him, kneeding them.  The muscles tensed in his hand and he felt Sherlock’s cock push into him once more.  He couldn’t stop the gasp but couldn’t help but revel at the feel of muscle in Sherlock’s gluteus that caused the action. 

“God, you’re brilliant.”  John gasped.

“So you’ve said.”  Sherlock smiled and pushed in once more eliciting the same gasp.  “Feel me, John.  Feel me sliding into you.  Feel me fucking you, connecting us together.”

“Ugh … god, yes.”  John lifted his legs higher and wider, practically begging for more. 

“Bloody gorgeous.”  Sherlock breathed into John’s ear as he pushed himself in all the way.

“Oh, Sherlock!  I’m … I’m coming!”  John’s breathing was rapid, shallow, he grasped Sherlock’s biceps tightly and rocked into the sensation.  His come spilled between them.

“Yes, John.  So beautiful.”  Sherlock reveled in the fact that he had so thoroughly had John beneath him and had him undone.  Oh, the tightness was beautiful, even moreso while John was coming and clenching so tightly around him.  He could come undone himself if he allowed that.  No.  There was more to undo.  John was not as thoroughly debauched as he would like.  He had said he would make it last hadn’t he. 

Finally, John finished, Sherlock stroking him to completion and through the aftershocks.  His breath calming.  Sherlock remained inside of him. 

“Sherlock.  I’m sorry, but it’s getting very uncomfortable.  It’s so tight.”  John fidgeted.  “Now that I’ve come, it’s too much.”

“Mmmm…no.”

“No?”

“No.  I have more to show you.”  Sherlock sat back on his haunches and grabbed hold of John’s ankle pulling it up and over his body to join the other one.  He pinned John onto his side and sidled up next to him, behind him slowly thrusting inside.  He tucked John’s head into his own shoulder and touched him top to tail, languid strokes as John huffed and winced.  Sherlock stilled the thrusting.  “Relax, love.  I’m not going to hurt you.”

“It’s … difficult.”

“I know.  Just concentrate.  Feel me inside of you.  Stroking you, inside and out.”  Sherlock grabbed the sensitive cock of his lover and began stroking as he began thrusting inside as well.  “Don’t think.  Just feel us, John.  It’s amazing.  I have to feel you come again.  I have to spend time inside you.  Get to know you inside like this.”

“God, Sherlock.”  John shivered and sunk into the hold Sherlock had on him.  He pulled his top leg up further and spread himself open allowing the penetration to go as deep as Sherlock would have him. 

“That’s it.  Just feel me.”  He stroked slowly in and out pulling his cock along without need to bottom out inside of John, without need to gain better purchase, without the need to pound into him.  His hands stroked up and down John’s body, learning every square inch, his scar, birthmarks, every ridge of every muscle.  His cock stroked inside of him, learning him, owning him. 

Soon his own need to come was winning over the need to remain inside of John.  He pushed John onto his front and stroked inside, pressing his hands against John’s scapula in a punishing rhythm.  John gasped after each satisfying inward thrust. 

“Mine.”  Sherlock claimed as he bit into the soft flesh at the nape of John’s neck and sucked there claiming his territory. 

“God, yes!  All yours!”  John’s breathing was heavy and shallow once more.  He lifted his hips, canting them in the air all the better for Sherlock to thrust into. 

Suddenly Sherlock stopped.  He collapsed on top of John. 

“Sherlock?”

“I need us to come, John.”

“I’m not opposed to that.”

“Together.”

“I’m just about there love.”

“I need to stroke you, make you come with me.”

“Alright.”

“Can you push up to your hands and knees?”  Sherlock asked.

“Yes, I think so.  If you budge up a bit.”

Soon Sherlock guided them back and positioned John hunched on his knees facing the headboard, Sherlock’s cock still inside him.  He kissed John’s neck and placed his arms in front of him.  “Hold on to the headboard.  Don’t let go.” 

John nodded and braced himself, arching his back to allow Sherlock better access. 

Sherlock pushed his knees outward pulling John’s to spread wider as well.  He thrust inside John slowly again, kissed his neck, his back.  His hands trailed along John’s chest, his belly and found their way to the intended target, grasping John’s cock firmly, stroking it in long pulls. 

John noticed the tube of lube lying next to his knee and grabbed it.  He tipped the top and squeezed until Sherlock’s hand that was gripping his cock was doused in the stuff.  He also reached back and glopped some more around his own entrance and stroked Sherlock’s cock stroking languidly in and out of him.  The friction hadn’t been a problem so far, but he had a feeling it would soon become an issue. 

“Mmm.. that’s nice.”  Sherlock spoke into John’s ear.  “You feel so nice.  So warm.  Wish this could never end.”

“That would be lovely.”  John cooed back to his lover. 

“Hands on the headboard, please.”  John obeyed quickly.  “Don’t let go.”  Sherlock warned before his thrusts became more insistent. 

John bit his lip to keep from crying out as his ass was pummeled quickly, with abandon. 

Sherlock slowed.  “No, don’t stop yourself, John.  Cry out, please.  It’s supposed to be sloppy and loud and vulgar.  Let it go.  I want to hear you.  Want to hear what I do to you.”

“Ugh … God, Sherlock.” 

“Yes, tell me.”  His motion picked up once more, pushing his cock inside John, pulling it out all the way and shoving it right back inside eliciting that beautiful, gorgeous, breath-taking gasp from John once more.

“So deep, so open … oh …. Oh … Sherlock!  Oh, God!”  John panted pushing against the headboard not allowing the pounding thrusts to be negated by the give of his hips against the force of it.  He couldn’t arch his back enough, he couldn’t press hard enough against the headboard and he couldn’t get close enough to Sherlock.  It was all too much, but not enough.  The pounding continued, oh, blessedly continued, his arse so open and willingly taking each thrust. 

John’s cock was continually stroked.  He was so close.  So close.  “Sherlock.  I’m gonna … I’m so ready…”

The thrusts became impossibly faster, deeper and he couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped as he was penetrated repeatedly. 

“Oh yes, keep making that noise.  Yes!”  Sherlock continued his thrusts and stroking John’s cock.  He was right there.  Just one more … and when he heard that lovely whimper again he could not hold himself back any longer.  “Oh, god John!  Oh you’re so fucking beautiful … God!”

John laid his head back against Sherlock’s shoulder as he felt his body let go, his arse so completely filled,  once more spilling his come all over Sherlock’s hand, not to mention the headboard, the bed and he may have even spurted some up onto his own shoulder and belly. 

They both twitched through the aftershocks, using each other to milk their cocks of every drop.  Finally, the both slumped, John still essentially on Sherlock’s lap. 

“That was amazing.”  Sherlock whispered in John’s ear. 

“Hmm…”  John made a satisfied, noncommittal noise. 

Sherlock grabbed John’s waist and pulled them upward together and pulled out eliciting a wince from John.  “Sorry, sorry.”  He pulled off the condom and binned it. 

John lay on his side, a pillow tucked under his head, a sappy grin on his face.  “That was rather … thorough, I think.”

“You alright?”

John looked at Sherlock taking in the concern on his face.  “Yeah, yeah.  I’m fine.  A bit sore, but that’s expected.  Come here.” 

Sherlock nudged closer.  “Can I have a look?”

“What?”

“I want to make sure you’re okay?”  Sherlock explained. 

John smiled knowingly.  “Oh, you are a bad man.  You want to see the damage you’ve done to my arse.”

Sherlock smiled. 

“I didn’t know what a kinky bastard you are.”  He stretched himself out onto his front, nudging the pillow into his chest.  “Take a look then.”  He spread his legs and allowed the touch. 

Sherlock sat between John’s knees and budged John’s wider.  He ran a finger along the underside of John’s entrance eliciting a sharp hiss.  “That hurt?”

“ A bit.  Is there a tear?”

“It’s small.  Very small.”  Sherlock continued to probe the area, spread him open and pulled his cheeks apart.  “It’s so pink and wet.  Obviously abused.”  He pushed one single finger inside.  “Still tight, you recover very quickly.  Even this soon after I bet it would hurt quite a bit if I were to fuck you again.”

“God, Sherlock.  So vulgar.” 

“Sex is vulgar wouldn’t you agree?”

“Hmmm … yes, but especially with you.”

Sherlock looked his fill and then flopped down next to John, manhandling him onto his chest. 

“Okay.  Into cuddling too then?”

“Into holding you.  Touching you.” 

John smiled.  “I like that too.”  He looked up at Sherlock and pulled himself up onto an elbow.  “You feeling alright?  Did it hurt to orgasm?”

Sherlock smiled.  “No, Doctor.  Not at all.  Felt wonderful.”

John smiled in satisfaction as the person who made that happen but he was still a doctor.  “It’s the effects of the prostate massage.  I’m afraid that might be temporary so don’t be surprised if your symptoms return gradually.”

“If they do, then you’ll just have to massage me again.”

“I don’t think that will be a hardship.”

Sherlock smiled and rubbed John’s shoulder, falling way to the sleepy post-coital haze he was expecting.  “Good.  Maybe I can get my sample then?”

John laughed quietly.  “Sherlock, you’re psychotic.” 

 

 

Epilogue

John was making his way home with his purchase when his phone beeped.

**_Good to know my brother’s health is in such … thorough hands.  Will he need any diagnostic studies of a more clinical nature?  MH_ **

****

**_Sod off.  He’ll tell you what he wants you to know.  JW_ **

****

**_I think you know him better than that.  MH_ **

John came home from the surgery late in the evening on Monday carrying an unmarked paper bag.  Sherlock greeted him warmly if not suspiciously when he entered their flat. 

“Did you bring me prizes, darling?”  Sherlock mocked.

John rolled his eyes at the humor.  “Sort of actually, I did.”

“Really?”  Sherlock moved toward him and they both sat on the sofa. 

“First thing is first.  Your labs came back today.  Your blood culture is fine, your hormone levels are fine except you do have an elevated PSA, but it’s only very slightly elevated.   I do think this short course of antibiotics will make you feel better.  We’ll repeat the lab in a couple of weeks.  If it’s fine, no worries.  It’s over.  If not, we’ll figure out our next step.”

“Alright.” 

John’s cheeks turned a decidedly pink color. 

“John?”

“Now, the next part.  You know doctors don’t really prescribe sex or sex toys, but there is growing evidence that sexual health does depend on regular stimulation to the prostate and regular ejaculation.”

Sherlock smiled at John’s apparent discomfort.  “Go on.”

“Yes, well… to that end, I bought an … aid, if you will, to help you.”

“An aid?”

“Yes.”  John pulled the bag open and brought out the long slim sex aid.   After he fought with the packaging for a few moments, he pulled it free and held it up for Sherlock to see.  “This part here, when fit inside properly, will stimulate the prostate without having to depend on anyone else.”

“That does not sound nearly as fun.  Are you not willing to do this procedure yourself?”

John smiled.  “Oh, I’m willing.  Anytime you like.  I just …”   John turned to face Sherlock.  “I don’t want you to feel like you have to stay with me just because … well because of this.  You should be able to relieve yourself of your symptoms without relying on anyone else.  It keeps you independent.”

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow.  “You are an idiot, you know.”

“Wha …. Why do you say that?”  John huffed. 

“After the other night, after this entire weekend, you still have doubts about your importance in my life?”

“No, that’s not what I meant.  I love you and I know you love me.  It’s just … I just want you to know that this can be separate.  You don’t have to ‘be in the mood’ for sex with me if you just feel like your symptoms need to be relieved.  I don’t want you to feel imprisoned by needing this done.  This should be done at least once a month, more if needed.  I can do it myself, always, if you want, but if you don’t want, I won’t take it personally.  Understand?”

“Yes, John.”  He picked up the packaging and took out the bulky manual, opening it wearily.  “The Pro-State Massager”  he gave a grin at John.  “Very well-thought out name, I should think.”

“Indeed.”

“Care to show me how to use it?”  Sherlock asked perusing the instruction manual.

“Thought you’d never ask.”  John stood quickly, grabbing Sherlock by the wrist pulling him with him down the hall. 

 

THE END

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
